Surrender to the Inevitable
by L. Century
Summary: Prequel to The Wrong Husband. She was the most unassuming woman he had ever seen. Little did Vilkas know Csatari would turn his world upside down.
1. Chapter 1

So long, I've been looking too hard, I've been waiting too long

Sometimes I don't know what I will find, I only know it's a matter of time

I've been waiting for a girl like you to come into my life

I've been waiting for someone new to make me feel alive

Yeah, waiting for a girl like you to come into my life

Won't you come into my life?

~Foreigner- Waiting For A Girl Like You

00000….

With his head in his hands, Vilkas wondered how it had come to this point. Perhaps it was inevitable; it always would be when magic and cursed witches were involved. The battle was beginning, the warriors choosing their sides. Vilkas knew how this would play out, Aela and Skjor would never agree to Kodlak's request to stop transforming. They would turn bitter, resentful. It was going to get ugly. The Old Man wasn't the fighter he used to be.

The battle was about to begin. Vilkas could smell it in the air.

He took a deep breath to prepare himself for the maelstrom, only to look up and see the most unassuming woman in the history of women approach them. She walked quickly, as though she had somewhere else to be, and it for some reason brought the term to mind, _Time is money._

Wearing worn out iron armor, a sad looking sword strapped to her waist, a large knapsack on her shoulders, she stopped abruptly before Kodlak. Vilkas grimaced looking at the woman. Another wanna be Companion- another Rita. Although boot licking certainly had its benefits, the Companions already had someone to fill that role. What they really needed was a fighter.

"Uh, hi. Are you Kodlak? That guy Skjor told me to come down and talk to you."

Vilkas kept himself from growling. At least Rita was an articulate ass kisser.

"I see, and what can I do for you?" Kodlak said, respectful to everyone, even to this woman who would likely waste his time.

"I would like to join the Companions."

"Would you know?" there was almost a lilt to the man's voice, as though he was talking to an old, trusted friend.

"Let me look at you." The woman stood there staring at the ground, her shoulders hunched as though waiting for a rebuff. Definitely not the warrior they needed. Had she even fought a day in her life? Or did her daddy buy her used armor?

"Look at me, girl," Kodlak said.

The woman looked up, her shoulders suddenly squaring, feet apart, meeting Kodlak's gaze intently.

As the Harbinger stared so did Vilkas. The Old Man always said a person's worth could be seen in their eyes. So, Vilkas stared into the eyes of that very unassuming Nord woman. It was a brief flicker, but Vilkas saw heat, passion, and fierceness- a ruthless mercenary and a loyal friend. He saw himself in that woman's eyes, a reflection of his own soul. She blinked, and it was gone.

"Yes," Kodlak said, "A certain strength of spirit."

The woman's eyebrows raised, shocked she had been accepted. Vilkas sighed. She may have a decent soul, but he had no time to be raising someone's esteem. The woman was clearly an emotional mess. Not to mention, they had no idea about her fighting skill. With armor that old, an unknown name and reputation, she couldn't be that skilled. It was more than any of the Companions could take on at that moment, not with the inevitable rift coming.

"Master, you can't be serious. I've never even heard of this outsider."

Vilkas glanced up at the woman watching her roll her eyes. This unknown was giving _him_ a dirty look, Vilkas, a name known throughout every Hold. She had no idea who she was dealing with.

"I am nobody's master, Vilkas. Last I checked we had some empty beds in Jorrvaskr for those with a fire burning in their hearts. Sometimes the famous come to us. Sometimes men and women come to us to seek their fame. It makes no difference. What matters is their heart."

There was forcefulness in the Old Man's voice as he spoke that Vilkas had not heard in a long time. Normally, he just sounded tired, but there was strength in his voice, as though this woman had somehow breathed life back into him and he wondered what was causing the change.

"And their arm," Vilkas said, reminding the Harbinger that they were a warrior's guild, not a charity house.

"Of course. How are you in a battle, girl?" Kodlak asked.

She ran her hand through her Mohawk, a haircut far too severe for her face and behavior. "I have much to learn, sir."

"Now that's the spirit. Vilkas, here, will get you started on that. Take her out to the yard and see what she can do"

"Aye." Vilkas sighed, resigned to that fact that Kodlak had just dumped this mess of a woman onto him. She was apparently his problem for now.

Vilkas stood up as the woman looked nervous and confused. This woman was hopeless.

"Come with me," he clarified.

She bowed quickly to Kodlak, the motion jerky because of her nerves. "It was nice meeting you, sir."

"The same to you, girl. What is your name?"

"Who me? Uh, it's Csatari, sir."

"What's your surname?"

The woman shrugged. "Just Csatari."

"In that case, you better go follow Vilkas now."

She nodded quickly, turning, scampering towards the door in order to catch up.

"You can't even keep up? Walk faster," Vilkas tossed the words over his shoulder.

In a voice so low no human could hear, she mumbled, "You want me up your ass? I'd be happy to stick my foot up it- free of charge."

In a louder voice, she said, "Um, coming."

He fought to keep from smiling. She was still a mess, but maybe there was some fight in her after all.

0000…..

They walked out to the courtyard, Skjor outside with Njada, the two stopping their training to lean against the wall and watch, Athis now making his way out as well.

Walking fully into the training court yard, he turned towards her. "Alright, the old man said to have a look at you, so let's do this."

"Ok," she said, crossing her arms, rocking back and forth on her heels, looking around. "Are you done looking?" she finally asked, and he heard Skjor chuckle.

"Draw your blade and take a few swings at me," he explained, realizing that he couldn't assume this one understood anything.

"Why?" she asked, her face scrunching up, "I don't want to hurt you."

"Let me see your form. Don't worry, I can take it." Vilkas unlatched his own shield from his back, drawing his sword.

She shrugged, looking at him as though he had lost his mind, and unsheathed her sword.

"Where's your shield?" Vilkas asked, realizing she had no intention of dual-wielding.

"I just sold it," she said. "It uh, wasn't very useful anymore." She was smiling, her eyes sparkling, as though there was some hidden meaning to her words, as like he was missing out on some inside joke.

"What are you going to use then?" he asked angrily.

Don't worry about it," she said. Her legs spread apart, her left leading, crouching down, holding her sword near her head. It was a stance he only saw in older fighters, a fighting style no longer in style.

"Interesting," Vilkas caught Skjor murmur, and realized his thoughts must have gone to the same place.

That wasn't the only curious aspect of the situation. The girl who could barely look Kodlak in his eyes, was now predatorily staring Vilkas down, searching for weaknesses.

She stood there waiting in position and while wearing a small smirk, said, "Ladies first."

Vilkas swung his sword out with very little force. He wasn't trying to maim her, but see her reflexes. She was faster than lightning, her feet sliding back, to ensure her stomach missed the blade's edge. She countered, her sword slamming into his shield hard enough to force him to bring back his right leg in order to balance his weight from the hit. The way she held her sword, her fingers closer to the top rather than the bottom of the pommel told him that she had been taught to use her quickness. Someone had shown this woman how to compensate for her frame size.

He sheathed his sword to explain the fight was over. "Not bad," he complimented her. "You might just make it."

She sheathed her sword standing there with her arms now crossed. She blinked and the predatory gaze was gone, along with the comments. Her eyes were blank, as she began worrying her lower lip, looking around the court yard again.

_What is it with this woman?_

She was a mess, but she could fight. Time to find out if she could be trusted; if she understood the bonds of brotherhood.

"You're still a whelp to us, new blood. Take my sword up to Eorlund to have sharpened. Be careful with it. It's probably worth more than your life."

He handed over the sword to watch her curiously take a long breath. "Alright."

No heat, no sarcastic remark, her feathers hadn't even been ruffled. She walked away, and after taking ten steps, he watched her sniffing the air. She turned right apparently following the smell. Vilkas sniffed too, wondering what it was that she smelled. He noticed it then, an odor so common to him now that he normally disregarded it, the smell of hot steel. It seemed she smelled her way to the smith.

Skjor, pushing off the wall, walked over. "Now that's not something you see every day."

"Did you recognize it?" Vilkas asked, and Skjor nodded.

"It was a fighting style used by an elite group of Imperial warriors during the Great War renowned for their quickness and stealth. The question is how did that one learn the moves?"

"I don't know, Vilkas," replied, "but, I'll find out."

00000….

A/N: Thanks to everyone in advance for reading!

I appreciate all of your reviews and support for 'The Wrong Husband' series. I'm glad you're enjoying it as much as I'm enjoying writing it.

Reviews=love.


	2. Chapter 2

Vilkas waited for her to come down. Waited to ambush her, like a wolf hunting its prey. When he saw Eorlund walk down the steps, he asked, "Where's the new-blood?"

"Asked if she could drool over the forge or a while." He continued on, leaving for his home, without another word.

Knowing she was up there alone, Vilkas walked up. He watched her standing over the forge staring with glittering eyes like a child being given a toy. She seemed utterly enraptured by the entire scene before her, holding a shield in her hands.

"New-blood," he addressed her as she pulled out of her reverie.

"Yes?"

"You fight in an unusual style. Who taught you?" Vilkas asked walking closer to her.

Her eyes were wary. "A mercenary band years ago."

"Do you remember their name? I've been doing this a long time. I know every reputable band out there."

"Hmm. No, it was a long time ago." It was the way the woman's eyes darted to the floor that gave her away. She was a terrible liar. The fact that she felt the need to lie, however, made him suspicious.

"Where do you come from?" he asked, his hands folded across his chest.

"Eh, you know, all over," Csatari was looking around everywhere except at him.

"Where did you come from last?" he asked, determined to have answers.

"The border."

"Morrowind?"

She shook her head.

"Cyrodil?"

She nodded. Was asking every simple question going to be this painstakingly long?

"Do you like Cyrodil?" he asked.

She shrugged. This woman was truly absurd.

"Why did you come to Skyrim then?"

"It's kind of a long story…" She began rocking back and forth on her feet.

He was done with the evasiveness. "Tell me, new-blood, now! When a member of the Circle asks you a question, you will answer!"

She blinked, and her eyes grew guarded. "I uh, was in a mercenary band. The brother was taking over. It was a big fucking mess. I barely got out alive. I was sleeping my injuries off under a tree when Stormcloak and his men got caught. The Imperials thought I was one of them and arrested me. Took me to Helgen, a dragon appeared, yada yada, I escaped. End of story."

"So, you're a criminal," he said flatly. The Old Man was losing his touch, after all.

"No," she replied quickly, "I have never committed a crime."

Vilkas laughed. "I find that hard to believe."

She was in his face before he realized, staring him down. "I have never committed a crime." She spat the words through gritted teeth.

_There_ was the heat and fire.

"Not even once?" he prompted, hoping for more of a reaction. She didn't disappoint.

She pointed a finger at him. "I was never going to let that bitch be right about me! Don't believe me? Go check the fucking cave out for yourself. Its right past the gates on the Cyrodil side, carved right into the mountain, on the right." Her eyes were on fire, sparkling, her entire demeanor threatening him, as if she already had a beast spirit inside her.

Csatari blinked and it was gone. "I uh, have to go give this shield to someone. Um, nice talking to you."

She nearly ran down the steps of the Skyforge towards Jorrvaskr.

He walked down himself, sitting on the patio, troubled. A possible thief. This was a concern. And this fighting style of hers another concern. So, was this split personality.

He was lost in thought, drinking a tankard of ale before he realized Farkas sat down next to him. "The new-blood seems nice. Just gave her an assignment taking care of the Falmer problem," he commented.

"She may be a criminal," Vilkas replied.

Farkas shrugged. "We all make mistakes in life." It was his brother's naïve way of looking at things, so accepting of everything and everyone.

The idea had come to him then. It was after all, the girl's idea. She had practically taunted him with it. If they wanted to know more, they could go check out the cave. Worst case scenario, they'd find out nothing, and be no worse off. Besides, if this potential criminal was going to join _his_ family, he wanted to know all he could.

"Hey, Farkas, are you in the mood to take a trip?"

0000….

A/N: Thanks to everyone for reading, reviewing, and favoriting!

Reviews=love. You guys are the best! I love reading your thoughts especially after the bad week I had.

I'll respond to everyone's reviews tonight! I swear!

If anyone knows someone who would do fanart for 'The Wrong Husband" series, let me know. Can't spend lots of money on it, or hubby will kill me, but I think we'd all love seeing it!

Csatari's conception, childhood story, and meeting Bulmond will be a bit more before it comes out, but the title is: Forgotten Tales and Other Stories Best Not Remembered


	3. Chapter 3

A/N: Thanks to all the reviews, alerts, favorites, and people following this story. A special thanks to those who have reviewed. It thrills me endlessly reading your thoughts. Thanks for reading!

00000000…..

Vilkas knocked on the Harbinger's door, finding him in bed, reading a book. Kodlak glanced up from the book, his patient eyes waiting whatever he was about to be told.

"Master, Farkas and I will be gone for the day." Vilkas didn't want to lie to the man, but he thought perhaps less was best when it came to this particular task. He didn't want Kodlak to think that he was questioning his judgment about the girl, even if he was.

Kodlak placed the book on his lap. "Do not do anything that you will regret later, boy."

"We're just going out hunting to talk things over," Vilkas added quickly.

The Harbinger sighed. "So, Csatari did alright." Vilkas couldn't be sure but in the man's clouded eyes, he thought he saw hope.

"Aye. She did alright," Vilkas replied, but the old man's smile grew.

"Battle techniques can be trained, Vilkas. What's there from the start is the most important. She'll be an asset to our ranks," Kodlak said in an unwavering voice.

"If you say, so, Master," Vilkas replied, before turning to leave. _We will see, won't we?_

The brothers packed the essentials knowing that they would return in a day. After renting two horses from Skulvard Sable- Hilt, they made their way for the Skyrim/Cyrodil border. They talked little; the brothers rarely needed to use actual words to communicate. Passing the walls of Helgen, they could still smell burnt flesh on the wind; they could see crumbling towers barely standing.

"That must have been some dragon," Farkas commented absent mindedly.

Vilkas agreed. The extent of the damage was profound. It only made the girl's story of escaping more implausible. How did she escape when stronger, more experienced warriors perished? The news had reached Whiterun quickly after it had happened- Helgen was destroyed, no survivors.

Several hours and a few bottles of mead later, they reached the border gates. When the doors did not immediately open, Vilkas searched for the nearest guard he found him patrolling a ways down the wooden bridge.

"Excuse me, might we pass?" Vilkas shouted to the guard. Realizing their presence, the guard hastily walked down towards them from his lookout post. "Nay! No one is to pass."

"Why not?"

"No one is to come in or out of Skyrim with the dragons about by order of the Emperor. Cyrodil doesn't want all of the Skyrim refugees."

"Should we go back, brother?" Farkas asked.

"No, we've come this far, we're going to get answers about the girl," he replied. Vilkas turned back up to the man. "My brother and I are members of the Companions. We need to speak with a mercenary band in that cave over there. We'll be gone no longer than an hour. The girl's honor is riding on it."

"That cave over there?" the man pointed beyond the borders. "Where all the ones with the Mohawks live?"

"Yes," Vilkas nodded. "That's the one."

"They don't live there no more," the guard explained.

"Guess it's time to go home then," Farkas said.

Ignoring his brother, Vilkas asked, "Where did they move to?"

"The cave over there," the man pointed towards a hill several hundred feet back. Their place got flooded out or something a month ago."

Wondering why he was still talking to the idiot guard, Vilkas turned his horse around toward the direction that the guard had pointed to. When he was closer to the hill, he saw the opening for the cave. Dismounting, he tied the horse to a grounded spike near the entrance decorated with a man's head. Farkas did the same as the two made their way to the entrance.

The two brothers walked down a long corridor, poorly lit with lanterns attached lengthwise by a thick rope. Even with the lanterns, a person could barely see anything past their nose. At the end of the walk, they came to a metal door. Knocking, a peep hole opened, two caramel colored eyes staring back.

"Password," the deep voice boomed.

"We're from the Companions. We're here to talk about Csatari. She used to be a member of your…_organization_."

"Csatari?" There was a hesitation in the man's voice. "She's alive?"

"Yes, and working on becoming a member of the Companions. We're here to ask about her reputation and honor."

Vilkas heard the sound of a bolt sliding followed by loud creaking as the door swung open. An encumbering man stood in the doorway, as large as Farkas with his arms crossed. He had the same hairstyle as Csatari, thought his hair color was midnight black. He wore well- fitting studded armor. He was frowning, drawing attention to a scar starting from the right corner of his lip to his ear. His five o'clock shadow made the scar less severe, and Vilkas wondered what caused the mark- a sword, perhaps a dagger?

"Is the little one alright?" the man asked, concern lacing his words. Vilkas realized that the girl was this doorman's apparent weakness.

"She is hale and hearty. It's tradition to research each new recruit, which is why we're here," Vilkas replied, Farkas nodding as confirmation at his side.

The doorman grunted, seemingly unimpressed with the Companion's traditions. "Checking someone's past only tells you who they _used_ to be. " He paused for a moment, contemplative. "I'm glad the little one's alright, though. Just wish she had come back." He held his hand out. "The name's Jedd."

Vilkas shook the man's hand. "I'm Vilkas, and this is Farkas. You seem attached to Csatari. Were you two close?" Vilkas asked, and he heard Farkas yawn next to him.

The man's eybrow rose. "She didn't let anyone get close. But, out of everyone I guess you could say I was the closest."

"But you wanted to be closer," VIlkas pressed.

"What does it matter? She's gone," the man snapped, his nostrils flaring. Vilkas stood there fascinated that this man had wanted _more_ with Csatari.

As soon as the man's temper flared out, he reined himself back in, sighing. "The boss thought she'd eventually warm to him." The mercenary shook his head. "She would have never fallen in love with him."

"Why not?" Vilkas pressed, unsure why he even cared. Farkas thought the same, lifting his brow at his brother.

"Because he didn't understand Csatari. He saw her as an asset to acquire- nothing more. I was just beginning to figure her out. She's…complicated. Maybe if I had some more time…" he shrugged.

Odd, Vilkas thought. He would have believed Jedd to be an uncouth, mindless barbarian. That did not seem to be the case, however. Vilkas felt his brother elbow him, and he realized perhaps he should change his line of questioning. "Had Csatari ever discussed with you any criminal past? Has she ever been locked up?"

The man's eyebrow rose. "Csatari? Naa. She's a good girl."

"You sure?" VIlkas pressed.

"Have you ever asked her if she committed a crime? That temper comes out. I have a feeling someone told her that she was nothing along the way and now she lives to spite them." The man shrugged. "Just a feeling though."

Interesting, VIlkas thought. That theory certainly explained what Csatari had said to him back at the forge.

"If you want more, you should go talk to Haber. He's the leader behind me at the bar. One more piece of advice. Don't touch Csatari unless she asks you to. She does _not_ like that."

Vilkas nodded as the man moved aside allowing them into the base. In the far right of the cave was a waterfall leading to a water stream that ran the width of the cave. On the right were cots and as one mercenary was bandaged and another was coughing, Vilkas realized it was a makeshift infirmary. In the back of the cave were bedrolls where a few mercenaries slept. By the waterfall was a makeshift bar, long tables and benches, and a cooking pit placed right above a hole in the cave.

Vilkas walked over to the bar to a man in his late fifties. His face and neck are covered in so many scars that Vilkas can't see any unmarred skin. The man was downing a shot, slamming the glass back on the bar. A man who looked no later than nineteen summers refilled the glass with a honey colored liquid. All had the same hair style.

Vilkas hadn't even reached the bar when Haber asked, "What do you want?"

"My name is Vilkas. The man next to me is Farkas. We're Companions asking questions about Csatari. We mean no trouble, just need information."

"Csatari, you say? So, she lives." The man sighed wearily. "Just one more thing my fucking brother cost me." His words were bitter, resentful.

"She was an asset to you?" Vilkas asked.

He downed the shot, slapping the glass back down. It hit the table, and then it was being refilled.

"They don't come often like her," Haber replied.

"What was so exceptional about her?"

The man sighed, downing the drink, the pattern continuing. "She was a damn good healer, saved me lots of men. Always did what was asked of her, never gave me problems, was hungry for work. She helped The Silver Arrows's reputation for always getting the job done. She was loyal too; you didn't worry about her sticking a knife in your back."

"The guardsman said something about not touching her," Vilkas pushed.

The man drank the shot, wiping his face. "Damnedest thing I ever saw and I've seen some pretty fucked up things in my day. She stumbles in to our old place, only woman in the whole damn room, and asks if she can join, mumbling the words. Tells me she can heal too. One of the mercenaries, Seth, thought he'd try and claim her for himself. He grabbed her by the hair, trying to kiss her. He was grabbing her ass too, trying to make his mark on her. It happened so damn fast I barely saw it. Where the knife came from I'll never know but she slit his throat. As he's lying on the ground choking on his own blood, she rips his pants off and then cuts his balls off. She's got them in her hand, all bloody, and she just looks up at the group who are standing there in shock and asks, 'Anyone else feeling lucky today?' I hired her right then and there. We shaved her head an hour later."

Vilkas knew that he should have been disgusted with her overreaction and the excessiveness of her violent response. He should have also been concerned about the fact that she uses magic.

All he felt, however, was admiration and respect for the woman. And he wanted to know _more._

"So, she was never with anyone in the group?"

"Nope. Jedd at the door had a thing for her after she saved his life. He was too much of a pussy to do anything about it, or too afraid he'd end up like Seth. But, every night when she went to bathe, he'd stand in front of her to give her privacy. Once a month, I'd bring in whores for my men to you know keep them loyal, and she'd always leave. When I would ask where she was going she'd always mutter something about the sun setting. I asked her if she'd like me to find a male for her. The service I used only had women, but for the amount of coin that I gave them, I'm sure they would have found someone for her. She said she wasn't interested and thanked me for asking. Those nights that the girls came, though, she left for the night. Where she went, don't have a clue."

Vilkas felt even more respect for her. But, why was she never interested? Surely, she had urges. Was there someone out there that she was involved with already?

The man stood up, swaying slightly. "I've got some stuff of hers. I'm sure she'd like it back." He picked up a small knapsack by a bedroll, handing it to Vilkas. He opened the bag, rifling through to find a leather bound book. Opening, he found a charcoal drawing that looked like Csatari (minus the ugly haircut) next to an older looking man.

"Who's the guy in the picture?" Vilkas asked. "Her father?"

"Don't think so. Keep flipping."

Farkas looked over his shoulder as he flipped through the pages. Vilkas heard his brother chuckle over his shoulder as the pictures became more _expressive._

She was…

_Beautiful._

The last picture she drew, Csatari wasn't even naked. She was fully dressed and was cradled in that man's arms, her head in his chest. But, it tugged at his heartstrings for reasons he didn't understand, and he found himself bitterly jealous of the man in the picture. He flipped the book closed placing it back in the bag. When he glanced up, Haber had just downed two more shots.

"Why are you asking all of these questions about Csatari, anyways?" he asked Vilkas.

"As I said it's routine with all new recruits. "

"I don't think so. Half your questions have been about her sex life. The look you had in your eyes when you flipped through those pages." The man downed another shot. "Do you know what I think? I think you're poking her. I think if I get rid of you two, then she'll come back to me, and the Siver Arrows can rise to the prominence they deserve!"

He stood up from his barstool, drawing his sword.

In response, Vilkas dropped the knapsack to the floor, unsheathing his own sword, a wolfish grin spreading across his face. "Challenge accepted."

000000000000000…..

As Vilkas wiped the blood off his blade, Haber lying dead on the ground, the mercenary band had begun to take notice. They began moving in on the twins. Farkas began crouching, and Vilkas realized he was about to transform.

"No, Farkas. We can't. Kodlak said we can't."

"Up here!" a voice shouted from behind them. Vilkas turned to see Jedd at the door, motioning for them to come. Vilkas grabbed the knapsack off the floor, sheathing his blade.  
>"Come on," he shouted to Farkas as they began running for the door. Jedd swung the door open and as they ran out and into the poorly lit entranceway, they heard the bolt slide shut behind them. The peep hole opened back up. "Take care of her," Jedd said, caramel eyes on Vilkas. "She's special."<p>

"You have my word," he replied, before the two brothers began running. Untying their horses, they mounted and did not stop galloping until they reached the ruins of Helgen.

Farkas was the first one to talk. "So, I guess we have to make sure Csatari becomes a Companion now, huh? Not like she can go back there."

Vilkas' thoughts were in a snarl. "And why would she want to go back to that place, to that _cave_ with those _people_?"

"Brother, if Kodlak asks, I'm not sure I'll be able to lie about what happened," Farkas said uneasily.

"We did nothing wrong, brother. We acted honorably," VIlkas replied.

Farkas sighed uneasily. "If you say so."

"It'll be alright," Vilkas replied, "Csatari will become a Companion. Everything will work out, you'll see."


End file.
